


The ABCs of Phrack

by Dispatch22705



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-03 13:40:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 15,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8716084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dispatch22705/pseuds/Dispatch22705
Summary: A small one-shot Phrack post per day from now to Christmas (with one to grow on), each chapter focusing on a word that starts with each letter of the alphabet.





	1. Awkward

The first time with Jack was slightly awkward. But it was awkward because she allowed it to be. She rarely allowed awkwardness or uncertainty in her bed. Either her partners already knew what needed to be done to satisfy her needs (and therefore were invited), or they didn’t, wherein she immediately took over, ensured satisfaction all around, and they moved on.

Awkward was real. Awkward was taking a chance.

Awkward was not taking control but sharing it...and losing it together... _equally_ together. Awkward meant true intimacy, wanting more, planning for next time. It meant the opportunity to let something truly wonderful bloom and grow out of an existing bond of love.


	2. Blindspot

A 3x1 redux. Jack goes on his rampage, but Phryne cuts him off and her father is nowhere to be found :)

j&p

The door to the parlor opened just as she arrived, as if he could sense she was coming. As if he shared the anticipation that had been building in her body since she’d left the theater, no—the night before…no, even before when she’d invited him to dinner, knowing this was new—this was going to be different.

“Jack, at last.”

Had she said that out loud?

It didn’t matter. She was here. _He_ was here. It was happening. He had to feel the same way. “I’m so sorry I kept you.”

“So am I, Miss Fisher.”

Hmmm…not exactly what she had in mind.

What happened next was a whirlwind in her mind, a nightmare come to life, as Jack simultaneously seemed to disqualify himself and list off other men in her life, one-by-one. Who knew he’d been keeping score?

“You’re missing the point,” she said.

He scoffed immediately, running his hand through his hair in frustration and cupping the back of his neck. He shook his head and then gave a small self-deprecating nod. “I guess you’re right. I have a major blindspot when it comes to you.”

“No,” she laughed humorlessly, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “You have a blindspot when it comes to yourself.”

“What?”

“It’s true. I know I’m not perfect. But I know myself, Jack. The good, the bad, and the ugly. I don’t…unravel when things don’t work out.”

“No, you just disappear,” he challenged back.

“So do you!” her hands landed on her hips. “Only you do it…emotionally!”

The slightest twitch in his jaw told her she’d hit the mark, but she was too far gone to stop. “Do you know why you won’t be like those ‘other men’, Jack?” Her voice shook, but she stepped closer. “They are for my pleasure. I take them for what they can do for me,” she admitted. “But with you…I’m desperate,” her voice cracked. “I’m desperate to know _you_ , Jack. To be together…with you.”

His eyes grew dark as he watched her.

“Will your voice go lower or higher when you’re inside me?” she asked. “What will you taste like here?” she placed a tentative fingertip under his ear. “And more than that…” she continued. “What side of the bed do you sleep on? What is your routine in the morning? How can I touch you, caress you, make love to you in a way to make you experience the most pleasure?”

He hadn’t looked away the entire time she spoke, and the tentative silence between them was taut. She had played all of her cards, and now it was up to him.  

_Vulnerability_. He was seeing it in front of him. She was open, and she was also right. He wasn’t truly vulnerable to her either. Jack moved forward, wrapping one arm around her waist.

Phryne relaxed into him. She wasn’t sure what he was thinking but figured this had to be a good sign.

“I’m working up the courage to ask to do the night over again,” he admitted, and she felt the words vibrate gently against her hair. She smiled and wrapped her arms around him also.

“Does that mean we have to wait for another night?”

Jack laughed and leaned back to look at her. “Maybe at least come through the door again?”

She eyed him and then the empty glasses on the tray. “How much have you had to drink exactly?”

He shrugged a shoulder. “I’m pretty sure toward the end Mr. Butler was just giving me fruit juice with soda water.”

Phryne laughed and scooted away from him. Even though it was his idea, he was loathe to let her go just yet, and his fingers trailed on her arm as he watched her leave the room.

The door was closed for a second, but then he opened it again, and his throat grew tight at the tears in her eyes when she said “Jack, at last,” again. He pulled her into his arms immediately, gasping when she wrapped her arms and legs around him.

“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting,” she said as he began to carry her up the steps.

“I am too, Miss Fisher,” he admitted. “That is, I’m sorry I’ve kept _you_ waiting all this time.”

She purred against him and moved her lips over his cheek, his jaw, the now opened collar of his shirt to the vulnerable hollow of his throat. “We’ll both just have to make it up to the other I suppose.”

Jack smiled, and she felt it in his neck muscles and in the twitch of his hands around her. He easily made it to her bedroom and then to her bed. And the smiles continued as they quickly divested of their clothing. His groan echoed in her ear as he pressed his face to her neck and sank into her. Her fingers tightened in his hair as her legs tightened around his waist.

Soon they were moving together, a perfect rhythm that matched their established give and take. And when she froze and then undulated beneath him, he went stiff before coming inside her and collapsing beside her. She turned toward him and draped one of her legs over his thighs. The residual wetness between her legs was an intimate reality that he loved. He loved her, and the words were on the tip of his tongue, even as he silently ran one knuckle over her cheek and then the soft curve of her shoulder.

“There are pajamas in your size in the wardrobe,” she murmured, tracing his chest with her fingertips. His eyebrows rose at that, but he didn’t comment. “And don’t be surprised if Mr. Butler presses your suit in the morning.”

He did laugh at that, blinking at this new reality in his life. But as she snuggled closer, he realized he was okay with it.

\--j&p--


	3. Compatible

Phryne arched her back with an ecstatic cry, and Jack gave a final thrust upward, detonating inside of her for the first time. He came down from his orgasm to realize he’d pressed his fingers so deeply into her hips that there were indentations in her skin. His chest bellowed as he tried to pull in air, and he groaned as Phryne flopped down onto him, her slim body a welcome weight.

She released a breath against his ear and twitched in his arms, letting out a soft, feline sound of satisfaction unlike any he’d heard before.  If he’d had any energy, he’d spare a bit to be proud he’d made her feel as good as she’d made him feel. In any case, he only had enough to wonder why _exactly_ they’d waited so long to do this.

“Well, another mystery solved,” she drawled raspily, leaning back to meet his eyes. Her breasts were still flattened against his chest, competing for _most decadent feeling ever_ with the way her thighs still pressed against his hips.

Jack smiled, and tucked her damp hair behind her ear. “Now we know.”

She smiled back and gave him a small kiss, and as he smoothly rolled her beneath him, he reveled in the way her smile turned into a full blown laugh of pleasure.   


	4. Dearest

Inspired by this, which I found to be so charming:

 (<https://twitter.com/MimiMatthewsEsq/status/768925088620044288> )

j&p

 

Jack dismounted from his bike and wiped his forehead with his arm. He’d noticed Phryne in the stands, and as he’d suspected, it didn’t take her long to find him amongst the other cyclists at the finish line. People seemed to part and make way for her wherever she went. He was used to that. What he was less used to was being her destination.

As she approached, he found himself being captured by a small piece of jewelry on her scarf. Jewelry in general didn’t surprise him; he knew she liked little baubles and brooches. But today’s number was a small golden bicycle, and he found himself incredibly charmed by it... and its wearer.

“Good race,” she was saying.

“Mmmm,” he nodded, still focused on the charm. “Where did this come from?” he asked, shyly tracing his finger over one of the wheels.

“Oh,” she demurred. “I just… had it around,” she said, and he saw right through her pretending tone.

“Mmmm,” he murmured again, unable to keep from leaning in to give her a quick kiss. If she was surprised, she didn’t show it. Instead, she took advantage and took the kiss deeper.

“You,” he pulled back a second, trying to figure out how to express his feelings in the moment. “You are my favorite person.”

A true smile captured her facial features and she tilted her head in his direction. “You’re clearly my favorite person as well, Inspector.”  Her hand landed on his chest, her fingers gently massaging him through his damp shirt.

“Clearly, hmmm?” he teased.

She rolled her eyes. “Dear man, do you think I would wake up this early for anyone else?”

She had a point. His eyes crinkled as he wrapped one arm around her waist and pulled her in for a softer, sweeter kiss.


	5. Envy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne's inner thoughts in 3x3

Envy. It was one of her least favorite emotions, as it reminded her of her childhood, of the scraping, gnawing hunger for…well, everything. Not just food (though her stomach had been empty more times than full) but for recognition, acceptance, for belonging—to her parents, to her teachers, to the rest of her family.

As she’d gotten older and richer, she’d harnessed that negative power, shrewdly managing her affairs (financial and sexual and everything in between) to ensure she would, essentially, never go without…to have everything she wanted.

She didn’t always get it immediately; she understood enough of the world to know that some things took more effort, more persuading, more massaging until they were hers. But wasn’t that part of the fun, part of the thrill of the chase?

But then… Jack Robinson.

Oh, fun indeed. And perhaps her most thrilling chase of all. Was it a foregone conclusion that he’d make good on the promises inherent in his low voice, in his compelling eyes, in those large hands of his? No…not necessarily. But the scales of possibility had been decidedly tipping more toward yes of late, and the anticipation was delicious, all the more so because it was mental (God, he was brilliant really), physical ( _that mouth_ ) _and_ emotional (had she ever known anyone so good?), and most of all equal (he seemed to be enjoying the repartee as much).

 

Except…Concetta.

 

The dark-haired beauty had seemed to bring out different aspects of Jack’s personality and preferences. And that wasn’t such a bad thing. She’d meant it when she’d told him she preferred a never ending source of mystery. But she wanted him to be HER mystery to solve. _Hers_ to learn all there was to learn, in the right time and the right place. Was he slipping away from her? Was he even hers to slip away from? Why did she feel that scraping, gnawing hunger she’d so emphatically left behind in her youth? Was it because she wanted Jack to herself?

…

…

Or was it because she wanted him to _want her_ above all others? He was the best, and she always wanted the best. But now, it was more. She wanted to be wanted by the best.

Her face warmed with the realization, that insidious, deep-seated wanting, the envy for what seemed out of reach or unattainable. The feeling of being not right, not good enough in some way. But underneath it was something deeper, she realized.

It was willingness. If Jack wanted Concetta—if that was what would make him truly happy, then she wanted that for him. It hurt, but it was good. Deep. Selfless. Sad. Good.

She clenched and unclenched her glass in her hands as she processed the entire cycle of her feelings. But then she heard motion at the front door. And she looked up in time to see Mr. Butler and Jack.

Jack. Here. Smiling, in his way, but with a hint of something more. Coming back for another round it seemed. And, selfish or not…it no longer mattered to her. Only one word echoed in her mind, and she wasn’t going to squander any more opportunities.

_Mine_.


	6. Friction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by @olderbynow 's awesome AU fic of Jack/Phryne and the gang in high school http://archiveofourown.org/works/7548970/chapters/17167402 . This isn't an AU chapter, just inspired by school subjects :)

She’d never cared much for science in school, but she knew enough to keep up with Jack on their cases...or at least to defer to Mac if she needed to. But she had always excelled at _chemistry_ , that electric charge between two people, the one or two extra beats of eye contact, the warm, ignitable sensation of combustible energy. Oh yes.

Where she was fluid, Jack seemed so static sometimes. But she knew that though he ran deep, he also seemed to enjoy surprising her; he certainly enjoyed impressing her. “Were you a good student?” she asked him once as they were leaving his office.

He blinked and then pursed his lips in thought. “I always liked to think so,” he offered, tilting his head to the side.

She laughed. “That tells me you were _definitely_ a model student. And a highly serious one, no doubt.” She watched as his hand temporarily gripped the door jamb as if he was slightly uncomfortable by the praise. But was he being modest, or did he think she was making fun? She tried to stay as open as she could, encouraging him to continue. “I seem to recall you saying you studied science.”

“I did,” he nodded. “I enjoyed it. I especially liked chemistry, the ability to combine various substances to create…” he shrugged a shoulder. “Explosions or completely new substances. It was always fascinating how two things could become one.”

Her mouth grew dry. Was _he_ flirting with _her_? She wasn’t sure. It was possible; he was often on the verge between enigmatic and playful. Then again, it was also possible she was so attracted to him that _anything_ he said would seem seductive. She’d been finding herself staring at his mouth and throat more and more lately, wondering what it would be like to see him more disheveled. To kiss him again, this time with her full faculties.

He was staring back at her, but he revealed nothing in his stoic eyes. Phryne paused for another moment and let their tangled gazes linger for a fraction of a second too long. “Were you also on the debate team?”

His lips curved up in a small smile, and that look, combined with the way their coats brushed against one another’s made electric friction course through her body.

“How else do you think I’m able to keep up with you, Miss Fisher?” he rumbled, and that friction ignited, warming her from the inside out in white-hot sparks of anticipation.

Chemistry indeed. Well. "You're still a model student, then." With a confident grin, she sashayed through the front of the station, and as always, he wasn’t far behind.


	7. Gown

The party was raucous, a veritable den of iniquity. And yet Phryne was still surprised by how low Jack kept his hand on her back. It was pure and innocent child’s play compared to some of the goings on in the room, but it still felt scandalous for them, his wide palm against the small of her back, the tips of his fingers almost dangerously close to her backside. And he’d been borderline possessive, keeping her close, leaning to whisper in her ear, refilling her wineglass often.

She certainly wasn’t complaining. But still she was shocked when he yanked her into a small coat closet, shoved some musty boxes under the doorknob and pressed her against the wall, already fisting the material of her dress up to her waist and capturing her mouth with his.

“Jack!” she whispered in shock. “This is unexpected! I mean--”

“Don’t blame me,” he replied, tracing one finger over the low neckline of her dress. “You’re the one who wore red.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to reply, but then his tongue was _against_ her tongue, and his fingers were sliding through the increasing slickness between her legs. Why talk when you can groan, when you can moan...

When you can "Oh, yes Jack!"... _come_?


	8. Hindsight

He kissed her, and she wasn’t about to let him change his mind. Instead, she thanked her lucky stars she’d had the foresight to close the parlor doors, and she pushed him down into the nearest chair and straddled him. 

And he responded marvelously, clasping those hands of his about her waist, encouraging the way her legs settled on either side of his. “Phryne,” he gasped, kissing a line down her throat even as he went to work on the buttons of her blouse.

“Jack, yes,” she tossed her head back and allowed herself to get lost in the sensation of finally, wonderfully, being ravished by Jack Robinson.

She felt fabric loosen and fall away and then she was nude from the waist up. And she sensed Jack pausing. Trepidation had her moving slowly, meeting his eyes and gently resting her hands on his shoulders. “Everything okay?” she murmured after a moment.

His gaze fell back to her bare breasts. Her nipples tightened under the weight of his concentrated stare. “Yes,” he nodded.

She realized that what she’d automatically assumed was him changing his mind was really just him being his methodical self. Sure enough, his hands returned to clasp around her bare waist, and the sensation was exquisite. Her nipples hardened further, and she watched as his tongue darted out to wet his lips. She groaned and he met her eyes before closing his for a second.

“Just give me a moment,” he requested, and she squirmed a bit in his lap, glad to feel he was just as affected as she was.

“Need an instruction manual?” she teased, and he smiled, slowly opening his eyes again.

“No,” he smirked. “I’m just superimposing this image of you right now over every time I’ve thought of you like this and wondered what you’d look like.”

He playfully closed his eyes again, and Phryne couldn’t help but laugh, leaning down to gently capture his mouth with hers. “And where are you now?”

He cracked one eye open. “The Ballarat train.”

“Mmmm,” she purred appreciatively, pure pleasure coursing through her veins at his admission. So early in their acquaintance too. Naughty man. It was time for a reward.

She cupped the back of his head and brought her breasts up near his face, teasing his lips with one hard nipple.

But then it was her turn to close her eyes in ecstasy, when he parted his lips and pulled the tip in with a soft, practiced suction, following it up with the slight rasp of his tongue.

“Nostalgia time over,” she ordered, spearing her fingers through his hair and tugging.

“For now,” he agreed, smoothing his hands up her bare back to cup her shoulders, leaning her backward for an even better angle for his mouth.


	9. Intertwined

Happy Friday! Or should I say "sappy Friday" as this one is heavy on the sap. :)

 

The loud party was drawing to a close, and she’d been keeping him as close as possible all evening, something he hadn’t been surprised about. She’d reached for his hand as soon as they’d gotten out of her car; she’d reached for it again as soon as her parents had found them and loudly drawn a lot of attention to themselves, their fripperies and flippancies so hollow in his eyes, compared to Phryne’s solid character. She’d given him a wry smile when her father handed him a small vial of alcohol and a tip of the hat in Jack’s direction, and he’d smiled back, leaning over to kiss her cheek. The look in her eyes now told him she was ready to leave, and as they made their goodbyes, he felt her fingers twine with his again.

To any onlooker, it was an affectionate gesture between lovers, but Jack knew the truth. He was supporting her, anchoring and steadying her throughout the evening as she made an appearance for appearances sake. But it took a toll, and he knew it. It was no surprise when she was quieter than normal on the drive back to her flat. And he watched as she routinely removed her jewelry and furs. He knew her. Knew the way she needed to emotionally unwind. Knew the way she needed to take her time and would talk if and when she was ready. He’d resented her father’s existence in their lives and cases in Australia, but now he was a bit grateful for it, as it had prepared him to be what she needed in this moment.

He sat on the bed and when she turned toward him, he held out a hand. She placed her fingers in his, moving forward to stand between his legs.  She lifted his hand and placed a soft kiss in the center of his palm. “You’re my family, Jack.”

He brought their hands back toward him, placing her palm over his heart.  “You’re my family too.”

 

 


	10. Jack Robinson

Trying my hand at an acrostic of sorts.

 

**J** ohn, technically

**A** dmirable

**C** areful

**K** ind

 

**R** are

**O** bservant

**B** lind to his own appeal

**I** nquisitive

**N** eat

**S** olemn

**O** ptimistic

**N** ecessary to her life


	11. Keen

Rosie had said he had his spark back, attributing it to the end of their marriage. He didn’t agree, but what he also didn’t add was that he’d felt the pull back to life before their divorce was final. And while the finality itself was…painful in a way, it was still sort of soft around the edges. But no, the truth was that he’d found himself waking up earlier, refreshed, excited for his days again… because of Miss Fisher.

Despite how he groaned when she joined his cases, he was often keen to be near her…as also evidenced by his inability not to join her for a post-case celebratory cocktail in her home. Or a mid-case conversation in her home. Or a trip to a different jurisdiction to help solve a case. Or… or… or…

It wasn’t her looks (though she was beautiful); he’d known many beautiful women who left him cold or whose conversation he could only stand for a few moments. It was her brain, the way she processed things—the way she was always challenging and competing but never a sore loser when it came to solving a crime. It was her sense of humor, dry and witty---so like his own. He wasn’t sure which felt better, laughing at her jokes or when she laughed at his. It was her underlying kindness and compassion; beneath her glitzy lifestyle, she was generous and sincere.

Yes, he felt her presence in his life very keenly. He’d subconsciously started measuring the days where he didn’t see her in person, and the numbers were getting few and far between. He liked her.

He just couldn’t stay away…and at this point he had no reason not to, and no intention to either.


	12. Layers

It was his hands that gave him away first. He’d certainly touched her before, but it was usually cursory, carefully, only as necessary. Just as she had often caressed his lapels or his tie, he was smoothing his hand over her back, close to her waist. It still seemed merely inquisitive, but she knew better. Now it was sensual, and she grew warm at the feeling. And like hell was she going to miss out on the opportunity. “Jack,” she murmured, wrapping her arms around his neck and lifting up until their mouths met.

He pulled in a startled gasp, but seemed to catch up just as quickly. Soon they were plundering each other’s mouths as their hands roamed over clothing. She was only in her robe, and it was easily discarded. He wore his overcoat, his suit jacket, his waistcoat, his dress shirt…and when Phryne reached his undershirt, she pulled back, gripping the fabric in her fists. “I swear to God, if you somehow have another layer on underneath this, I’m going to murder you.”

He blinked and then laughed, his head falling backward for a second in pleasure. “No more layers,” he promised, reaching behind his back to fist the cotton material and lift it over his head one-handed.

Phryne hummed appreciatively and let her fingers skim over his warm skin and firm muscles before trailing her touch down to his waistband. Jack growled and then immediately hitched her up in his arms, backing her up until she was pressed against the wall and he was snug up against her, all of her.

“Though if I was to be murdered, no doubt you'd still manage to be on the case,” he murmured against her neck. The physical sensation, the compliment, the realization that he was just as much himself in foreplay as he was everywhere else (or had it all been foreplay after all?) made her head spin.

“Wonderful,” she breathed, encapsulating her thoughts on everything. She let him have his way with her mouth again, then the curve of her neck and then the hard tips of her breasts and gasped in pleasure as he sank to his knees and gently nudged her legs apart before using the flat of his tongue along her sensitive clit, the tightness of his jaw against her inner thigh. "Oh yes," she murmured as she gripped his hair in her hands, finding it surprisingly soft. _Oh, yes_... there were layers and then there were _layers_ , and she was looking forward to discovering everything there was to know about Jack Robinson.


	13. Measurement

“Miss Fisher,” he smiled, opening his door wider and giving a small glance toward any neighbors who may have been spying on his newly regular visitor.

“Inspector Robinson,” she flirted back, as was her custom. They’d taken to little weekend trysts at his place whenever possible, usually lazy Saturday afternoons or Sunday mornings.

But this time he was a little more aggressive, kissing her as soon as the door was closed. She purred and ran her fingernails over his chest and stomach, and he groaned, resting one forearm on the door near her head. When he pulled back, he met her eyes and then leaned back a bit more to look her over from head to toe. “New shoes?” he murmured against her lips.

“Mmmm, yes,” she smiled. “Do you like them?”

He tilted his head to the side. “I like that it makes your mouth even closer to my mouth,” he replied, punctuating his words with another kiss to her lips. And it was true. The height of the heels was just enough of a gradation from their normal height difference, and it was sweet and exciting.

“Then I’ll keep them on,” she said.

“It’s only a couple of extra inches.”

She smiled against his mouth. “Inches are good.”

He smiled again and then laughed, and then they were both having a hard time kissing from smiling so much.

“Whatever is the matter, Inspector?,” she playfully demurred, and then gave a tiny yip when he flipped her around with a growl. It turned to a moan when he fisted the material of her skirt to her waist and moved his legs between hers to widen her stance.

“I’ll show you inches,” he promised darkly, cupping her hips in his hands, already sliding in deep.  


	14. Need

Hey, we're over halfway done! Thank you everyone for the love, kudos, comments, likes, all of it!  Here is some good old-fashioned M rated sexytimes.

 

It was close to midnight when they finally made it back to her flat after the play and after hours drinks at the club. Jack retired to the bathroom to wash up and Phryne moved to her wardrobe. She considered a pajama set or thick robe, but in the spirit of the holiday season, went for a thin, red silk nightgown instead.

They’d had fun, and usually when that happened, it continued with playful sex. A whisper of sound behind her caught her attention, and she smiled, turning to find Jack, shirtless, leaning in the bedroom doorway. She met his eyes, expecting to see the same humor he'd had for the past few hours.

She saw banked fire.

He looked her over from head to toe and then walked toward her, cupping the back of her neck and slanting his mouth down over hers in a kiss that left her breathless and clinging to his bare biceps. She skimmed her fingers up his arms and onto his bare chest, down all the way to the unfastened waistband of his tuxedo pants. His fingers slid through her hair, sending a delicious shiver through her. "I want to touch you all night," he murmured, already pressing light kisses against her throat. "And give you so much pleasure you beg me to stop."

She wasn't about to beg him to stop. Not now, not ever. Her fingers fisted in his pants, and she yanked him toward her until they both fell onto the bed. Her legs parted and then wrapped around his waist. She moaned when her nightgown easily pooled at her hips and the warm firm press of him settled between her thighs. "Phryne," he gasped, rocking his hips once, twice, a third time before rearing back and placing his weight on his hands and knees.

Jack ran his hands over her torso, gently caressing her breasts before giving tiny tugs to her hard nipples. The combination of his sure touch and the thin, silky material had her arching off the bed into his hands, begging for more. He gave it to her, leaning down to suck her through the nightgown, long strong pulls of his lips followed by languid licks and soft nips with his teeth and tongue. The material plastered to her achy breasts, and she grabbed at the hemline, pulling it up and over her head in a desperate move to feel more of him.

“Beautiful,” he murmured the praise, tracing the edge of one tight and bare nipple with a calloused fingertip. Her eyelids drooped at the sensation and her legs parted automatically.

Jack’s fingers trailed down her body at the blatant invitation. "Do you want more?” he teased, already lowering his mouth back to her breasts and skimming his fingers down to her stomach.

"Yes," she gasped, both in reply and in pleasure at the feel of his hot mouth against her body. Her fingers tangled in his hair and she undulated beneath him, begging him with her body to touch her more. But he resisted, merely running his fingers against her lower belly and inner thighs. She cursed his name in vain, and he chuckled, the sound muffled against her breast. She scraped her fingernails down his back and then slid her hands beneath his pants, cupping his rear end and rubbing her wet core against his stomach. It was his turn to curse, and he leaned back for a second, wrapping his hands around her wrists.

Their eyes met in a slight challenge. "I wanted to make you delirious. Frenzied, until you can't take it anymore."

She bit her lip, taking in the picture he made, all lightly bronzed skin and rippling muscles, the hard outline of his cock pressing against his pants.

"I am, Jack,” she started to gently rock and writhe beneath him. “I am.” She pulled her hands free and settled her fingers against his bare stomach. Toying with the waistband of his pants, she watched his eyes darken to the color of deep oceans. He didn't refuse her or move to stop her touch, so she continued, tracing his thick shaft with one teasing finger, lingering at the spot where his testicles throbbed before rubbing against the plump head. He hissed in a breath, and she felt the material beneath her fingertip grow damp, signaling his increased arousal. Phryne carefully lowered his pants to his thighs, loving the way his cock sprang free and hard toward her. From her angle on the bed compared to his kneeling between her legs, he looked incredible, and so tempting to the touch.

She immediately gave in to the temptation, fisting him from base to tip, using a swivel motion with her wrist over the swollen tip. He had such a beautiful cock, long and firm and so sensitive. He groaned, thrusting into her hand, the base of his throat going flush with color. Phryne continued the rhythm, using her other hand to gently scrape against his lower belly, her fingers tangling lightly in the hair there before following the trail to his groin. She ran her fingernails over his inner thighs and he gasped, leaking pre-cum over her twisting and pulling fingers.

“Enough,” he finally rumbled, pulling away and moving down her body, using his mouth roughly over her skin as he did. His lips and teeth and tongue all made their mark on her skin, from throat to navel, nips and pricks and bites and soothing kisses. His hands parted her thighs and he settled in, leading with his tongue in her slit, just tracing the sweet indentation from top to bottom and back up again.

Phryne gripped his shoulders, settling into the mattress and sinking her hips deep, undulating into the pleasure. She lifted her knees up and toward her stomach, the movement causing her to part further and the tip of his tongue to nudge her clit. They both groaned in unison and she arched up against his mouth. “Jack, yes, oh yes. I…” she bit her lip. “I need more. Please, give me more,” she begged.

“Always,” he murmured, already wrapping his lips around her clit and beginning a gentle suction.

Warmth infused her whole body. She kept one hand wrapped in his hair and used the other to caress her breasts, lightly nudging and thumbing her nipples to hard points, the sensation an electric connection to where he was loving her with his talented mouth. He nudged her thighs up a bit more with his wide shoulders, palming her bottom and settling in, now tongue-fucking her pussy as deep as he could go.

Phryne cried out in pleasure, gripping the sheets for leverage as his movements rocked her body. Everything was centered between her legs, the press of his face, the friction of his tongue, the gentle rubbing of his thumbs below her opening, the trickle of moisture from her body and his mouth, soaking his face, the crease of her bottom, the sheets beneath her no doubt.

He paused to take a breath and she met his gaze, seeing the same fire as before. “Come here,” she demanded, her voice nothing more than a raspy plea.

But he obeyed, leaving her honeyed warmth with a final lick before languidly kissing his way up her body. She clutched his shoulders and kissed him, groaning at her own taste in his mouth. Their tongues tangled as she wrapped her legs around his hips, rocking her wet core against his throbbing shaft.

“Inside me. I need you,” she murmured against his mouth and he grunted out a yes, already moving one hand between them to position himself at her opening.

He lined up and then slid inside and back out. He groaned and buried his face in her neck, resting his weight on his elbows as she moved with her natural rhythm beneath him. The scent, the feel, the _connection_ …

It was exquisite, all-encompassing, overpowering in its wave. She arched up to him, and he sank into her, and they fell apart together.


	15. Orchids

Phryne allowed herself the pleasure of flopping onto the hotel bed. The first leg of the flight had been fine, but it only served to indicate just how far they had to go. Traveling with her father had been terrible, just as she’d known it would be. When she traveled, she preferred to be light and carefree. Now she felt responsible, and it was, in a word, annoying.

With an indulgent petulant sigh, she rolled on the bed toward her pack, unfastening the top portion and hoping that a soft robe was on top. She thought she might be able to fall asleep immediately, though she desperately needed a shower as well.

Suddenly, a small white box fell from her bag. Immediately, she sat up, remembering. “Jack,” she murmured.

She’d seen him the night before, and he’d given her the box, asking her to wait until she was on her trip before she opened it.

With a soft smile, she lifted the lid, and inside she found a small, delicate bouquet of orchids.

Oh.

She’d certainly received flowers before from men. Beautiful ones that decorated her parlor or dining room. There were times her front foyer resembled a florist or funeral parlor! But this was different, more. These had been cultivated and cared for by Jack. Grown by his own hand and nurtured.

A small note accompanied the bundle, written in his scrawl.

_To remind you of home._

A soft smile curved up one side of her mouth, even as the exhaustion of the day caught up to her in the form of tears pricking her eyes. The thoughtfulness would have been enough, but now she thought of his kiss, and his kind eyes and the surprised jolt of _rightness_ she’d felt when she’d seen him drive up the airfield, when she’d invited him to follow her.

She traced the delicate petals in wonderment that she’d already had them in her possession when she’d made the invitation. What a treasure he’d given her.

She thought too of his other gifts; the badge, the pin, the time spent with her, his friendship. All of it—he was one who cultivated the things he loves, planting a seed with hope and nurturing it to full bloom. Flowers, relationships, hope.  What a treasure _he_ was.

He doesn’t come after her—because she tells him not to.

“Don’t bother coming, I’m not staying long enough for you to get here,” she wrote. She finished up her business as quickly as she could, staying only for some legal arrangements and a couple of shopping trips before planning her return, anxious to return to Australia, to return home.

She clenched and unclenched her hands in her coat pocket as she made her way up the sidewalk to the small bungalow home. And when she knocked, the door opened quickly.

“Miss Fisher!” his jaw dropped, and she was momentarily speechless at the sound of his voice, the sight of his face.

Her hand thrust forward, holding the small gift she’d purchased for him in England. It hadn’t been her intention to give it to him right away (though in hindsight, once she’d made the purchase, she’d rarely let it out of her sight).

He accepted the small packet. “English orchid seeds,” he murmured and then met her eyes.

They stared at one another for a long, momentous moment.

“Perhaps…time to try something new?” she offered.

His eyes grew warm, and he smiled as he pulled her close. “Welcome home, Phryne,” he said just before his lips touched hers.


	16. Phryne Fisher

Gotta do the same with Phryne that I did for "J". Did you know that Jack Robinson and Phryne Fisher both have 12 letters? It’s the little symmetries in life that give me so much joy.

 

**P** hryne. Yes, like the courtesan. Yes, _that one_.

**H** opeful

**R** ich

**Y** oung-at-heart

**N** eeded

**E** xuberant

 

**F** un

**I** ntuitive

**S** hameless

**H** elpful

**E** ntertaining

**R** esponsible for his happiness


	17. Quiver

“Jack?” Phryne’s voice broke through the tremulous silence in the dark room, further compacted by the blindfold she had over her eyes.

"I'm here," he assured her, and she felt a slight dip on the bed. She couldn't see a thing and her arms were looped over her head, not bound by anything but her will and the delicious anticipation Jack had cultivated by giving in to one of her fantasies.

He still didn't touch her, hadn't touched her since he'd removed her clothing. She wasn't sure about the time, but thought it had been close to half an hour, and her skin prickled with awareness. The lack of vision created extra-sensory perception as she heard what seemed like every iota of breeze through the curtains, and the sheets beneath her nude body were almost scratchy against her sensitive skin. No blankets covered her, nothing separated her from his gaze, and for several moments he'd contented himself with just staring at her…she assumed. That she had no way of knowing for sure caused her nipples to pebble into little hard beads, caused goosebumps to break out over her arms and legs and caused her to gently rub her feet against the sheets just to get any stimulation she could.

Now she almost sensed he was lying beside her on the bed, and she imagined him stretched out next to her, all long limbs and controlled power. Phryne wondered if he was clothed or as naked as she was. An image of him fully dressed while she was splayed out, completely bare for his pleasure, made her tremble. Her fingers fluttered near the headboard. She knew Jack would tie her up if she asked, but she'd wanted to control her abandon, to purposefully let him do anything. She felt dangerous, but she'd also never felt safer, in his control, in his bed. She knew he would take care to make her mindless with need and pleasure. It was an amazing feeling to offer up so much trust, and even that notion made her hotter, made her wetter, made her part her legs just that much further.

He murmured approvingly and then she felt him leave the bed. She heard a bit of rustling and what sounded like ice in water. The realization made her gasp and squirm, and when Jack chuckled, she almost cried with anticipation. Then his mouth was on hers, and she moaned against his lips. Their tongues tangled, and she felt slivers of ice chips in his mouth. The cool sensation scrambled her brain, and when she lifted up for more, he just backed away further, leaving her to fall back against the pillow.

She felt a piece of ice fall to the center of her chest. It was melting and then was so slippery and chilled. Jack's chin brushed her skin as his tongue slid the ice over her body, relaxed and fluid movements that made her breasts and nipples so tight she thought she might give in, grab his head and force his mouth to suck her.

But she held off, knowing the heightened pleasure would be worth it. A tremble began against the base of her spine and seemed to radiate throughout her limbs, and it took her a full minute to realize Jack was no longer touching her. Her core pulsed, empty and throbbing to be filled. Her arms ached at their position, and she knew she'd likely have sore muscles the next day. Her hips were shifting of their own volition, wanting, needing more. Still, he didn't touch her again.

"Turn over," he spoke quietly, his tone serious and grave. She immediately complied, loving that his power was in his reserve. He never had to yell to be obeyed, he just commanded in his low, sure and quiet tone.

The sheets gave temporary relief to her achy breasts and she tried to spread her legs wider to brush her clit against the bed, but Jack stopped her, using his hands on her outer thighs to keep her legs in place. "Not yet," was all he said, and she all but whimpered into the pillow, her fingernails biting into her own palms.

He removed his hands, and she groaned at the loss. She heard him chuckle softly and knew it had cost her another few minutes of this delicious torture. So she remained as still as possible, keeping her legs together and her shoulders still.

He used the ice again, running the tip of a cube from the nape of her neck, down her spine, and just to the top of her bottom. Then back up again. Down, then up, over and over again until the heat from her body and his fingers melted the ice to water. He used his palm to slick the moisture against her ass cheeks, careful not to let his fingertips anywhere near her aching core. Phryne forced herself not to arch up into his touch, not to beg for him to do more, to spread her wide and take her, with his tongue, with his fingers, with his cock…with a fucking ice cube, with anything he wanted, she didn't care. He was fulfilling her fantasy…and then some.

He repeated the process with more ice, and through her near delirium, she realized she was moaning regularly. This time, he ran the ice cube lower, letting the chilled water drip over her core. A drop landed so close to her opening that she gasped, feeling her inner muscles contract against the emptiness inside. "Please," she begged, so needy and desperate.

She cried out when he palmed her hips and flipped her over onto her back. Her arms and legs automatically splayed wide, and despite the tightness between her legs, the rest of her limbs felt languid, as if the pleasure had suspended her in slow motion.

He touched her then, just his cool fingertips in tight circles around her nipples. She didn't even care that he wasn't touching her where she really needed him; just feeling his hands on her was incredible. The bed creaked again, and then she felt his mouth over her, his warm breath over her nipple a contrast to his cool touch. It was electric and so exquisite, she thought she might die of sensation. He removed his hands, and she moaned, and when he continued to hover over her, teasing her chilled skin with soft puffs of breath, she couldn't help but arch up to him. Jack moved down her body, blowing warm air against her sensitive belly and ribs. Phryne imagined him, all muscled strength and composure, and she forced herself to remain as still as possible.

The sound of water and ice clinked again, and she felt a small piece of ice settle in the groove of her belly button. Jack blew on it, and she felt the first drip from the ice, sliding toward her hip. Then his tongue was there, the flat, raspy, and warm length lapped up the drop. Phryne fisted the rungs of the headboard and spread her legs wide, gasping every time he used his tongue on her belly. The contrasting cold from the ice and heat from his mouth were making her delirious, and she felt herself dripping with anticipation. Then he was licking at the cube, the motion a mirror to how he normally licked up her slit. Long, upward strokes that made her curse. When she shivered, she heard him groan softly, the first break in his composure. It nearly made her come, and she bit back a whimper.

After a few minutes, he'd lapped away all of the remaining ice water on her belly and ribs. She felt his hands against her knees, and she obeyed his wordless command by spreading her legs even further for him. In what felt like minutes, but could have only been seconds later, she felt his warm breath against her inner thigh. She gritted her teeth and barely resisted the urge to beg him, especially after she heard what she now recognized as him reaching into the bowl of ice water for another ice cube.

His breath ghosted over her folds, making her skin tighten and furl up, completely opening up for him, as if he'd parted her with his own fingers. Her clit throbbed and her core pulsed. She panted when he traced one calloused fingertip against her slit, avoiding her clit. "Ready?" he murmured and skimmed the ice cube just over her opening.

And her response was the shaking, shuddering quiver that racked her entire body.

**-j &p-**

_Sorry to be a tease and not go all the way, but I just loooooooooove the anticipation._

_*flies off on broomstick*_


	18. Reward

It had been a hell of a day.

Seeing Rosie, seeing Rosie and Miss Fisher meet in the old family home, seeing George in that hospital bed, with suspicion of murder or at least very wrongful doings, seeing Rosie and Sydney _together_ … all of it combined was almost too much to ask of any person. And now he was here, in a gentleman’s club.

The opulence was seductive. He was technically here on business; no one else would be the wiser. So he was going to be a little bit bad. He deserved a reward, just a tiny one. He wasn’t the type to frequent clubs—not just because he was an officer of the law; it wasn’t really his type of scene. But seeing Rosie with Sydney had left him feeling a tiny bit… lonely perhaps, maybe even jealous. Not for Rosie, but just that…intimacy, the shared experience and camaraderie.

So yes, a little, teensy reward of a show wouldn’t hurt. And Collins was with him, the lad as green and inexperienced as could be. A little growing up wouldn't hurt him either, he supposed.

And it would be rude to leave the room as the performance was starting. And of course it _was_ possible something else that would help in the case would present itself. And…fuck it, he was a single man watching what amounted to a cabaret. It was fine.

The dancer’s feathers were alluring, and Jack watched as her movements began.

Then her face was revealed.

Ha! He should have known. Laughter was on the tip of his tongue, and he stole a glance toward his constable, immediately schooling his features at the shock on the younger man’s face.

But now he really let himself settle in for the show, his tiny indulgent reward. Did she just wink at him? Hard to tell. It felt like she was dancing for him, though he knew that was part of the appeal of the lighting and all of that—no doubt every sad sack in the room felt the same way. But at the very least he felt like he was part of her secret, part of her joke, and there was reward in that too. Respect, desire, amusement. All three emotions that had been swirling in his mind and body for months now when it came to her. 

He watched as she swayed and seduced. Where had she even learned to do this? Not that it mattered. He only knew he’d never forget it.

The music swelled and she turned her back to the audience. He admired the slim line of her back, the way her bare skin curved at her hips. And then she was turning back around, for some finale no doubt, and--

Oh.

_Oh._

Well then.

He blinked, clearing his throat and barely looking at Collins. He applauded with the rest of the room but already knew the image of her bare breasts, on display and surrounded by feathers and jewels, would be imprinted in his mind for the rest of his life. Reward indeed.

Hell of a day.


	19. Steady

A small, friend-shippy (which for me can sometimes be more romantic!) deleted scene from 2x12.

Inspired also by Fire_Sign's 'Buoys and Ballast' (which, if you aren’t reading, get thee to them immediately!)

-j&p-

 

Jack watched Hugh drive away; George Sanderson and Sydney Fletcher were in the back seat and they were on their way to the station. Likewise, Dot and the red raggers were ushering the affected young women toward other cars—getting them to safehouses or similar, he figured. It was surreal.

The rest of the evening held no-doubt his toughest interrogation yet. Half of him rebelled at the thought. He knew he needed to go, to get it over with as quickly as possible.

He just needed a moment first.

“Are you okay?” he heard behind him, and he turned.

“I…” he paused as he looked at Miss Fisher. At Phryne. “I don’t know.” He let out a deep sigh, feeling dramatic. But it reflected his true feelings…he felt in over his head. “I…I will be, I’m sure. It’s just…” He gave a small motion with his hand as if to describe the indescribable.

She nodded slightly, taking a small step toward him, and he noticed the tightness in her body.

“Are _you_ okay?” he asked, taking another step toward her. He couldn’t help but look her over from head to toe. She seemed fine physically, but he also knew many wounds were invisible, including emotional ones.

“I will be,” she nodded, giving him a small smile.

It buoyed him a bit, and he inhaled again. “I’m not looking forward to this.”

Somehow she’d moved even closer. “I’ll be there, if you’d like.”

“I would,” he immediately agreed.

“And then afterward, you can come over for a cocktail,” she swallowed, and he could see she was trying just as much to make it seem like another job well done, just another case for the record books…for both of them.

He nodded once, or at least he thought he did. He wasn’t sure. They were close together, and he couldn’t help but cup one of her elbows in his hands.  He tried to find the words to tell her she was currently the steadiest thing in his life.

But perhaps he didn’t need to. Her gaze softened and her fingers straightened his lapels. “I’ll give you a ride,” she offered, and he nodded.

“Thank you.”


	20. Trouble

Dedicated to @RositaLG - I hope you are enjoying her 25 Days of Phrack as much as I am! And because even though we don't plan these things, our posts often end up with the same vibes, LOL :)

\--j&p--

 

Wide, warm palms slid up sleek thighs, parting them easily. But she was the one in control, her mouth on his, teasing and nipping as her fingers speared through his hair and held him close.

"I'm losing control, Phryne," he admitted with a panting breath. Unable to resist, he thrust against her, and she was so fucking hot and wet that he cursed, squeezing her legs tighter than normal.

Phryne gripped his wrists in her hands and then moved, shifting their weight easily until he was flat on his back, and she was above him. She leaned down, brushing the hard-sucked tips of her breasts against his chest as she lightly rode the underside of his cock in slow, tantalizing rotations.

Jack yanked his hands away and fisted the sheets beneath him, arching his back to increase the friction. "Please," he begged before reaching between them and fisting his dick in one hand. With the other hand, he caressed her, starting at her neck before lightly sweeping down her chest and belly. He slipped two fingers against her folds, groaning against her mouth. She was riding his knuckles now, and he thought he would die from just that sensation, let alone all of that pent up heat surrounding him.

"Now," she relented, and he nearly whimpered as he lifted her up high enough to center his cock at her opening.

"Now," he repeated and gripped her hips in his hands as she sank down onto him all the way. No teasing, no more light touches.

His eyes narrowed as he watched her from below, all long, pale limbs and gorgeous, sexy curves that made his hands itch and mouth water.

Her hands ended up on his stomach, and he felt the sweet sting of her nails in his skin and it set him off. He barely had time to press a thumb against her clit before he started coming, completely unraveling inside of her as she continued to thrust up and down on him.

She gasped and then froze before giving him the sexiest throatiest sound and clenching all around his pulsing dick.

He grunted when she collapsed onto him, and he managed to roll them over again until she was on her back and he was staring down at her, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. Her eyes were closed for a moment, but when she opened them, she met his gaze. A slight bewilderment crossed her features, but then she gave him the smuggest, most satisfied smile he'd ever seen, and damn if he didn't start getting aroused by her again.

"You're so much trouble, you know that?"

She closed her eyes again, but the smile remained as she lifted her arms above her head and stretched in happiness. "The good kind, right?"

He chuckled and began kissing her, soft little touches along her neck. "The best kind."


	21. Unexpected

A bit of a departure-- a friendship Mac/Phryne fic, set early-mid S1:

j&p

 

Phryne eyed her friend across the room, as they both sipped their drinks. “Do you like it?”

Mac admired the Margaret Preston and gave it a tiny salute with her tumbler. “It’s lovely. Congratulations on getting your hands on it.”

“And solving a murder in the process,” Phryne grinned, smugness suiting her greatly.

Mac chuckled. “Another one for the books then. And with Inspector Robinson, no doubt.”

Phryne hummed in agreement, seemingly lost in thought. Mac thought to warn her off. It seemed to her that the inspector was actually good and nice. And smart. All qualities that _should_ be expected in the police force, and yet that hadn’t been her experience necessarily. Trust Phryne to immediately find the best in the lot. “Sounds like you’ve got a partner in _solving_ crime then, instead of just a partner _in_ crime like the rest of us.”

Phryne acknowledged this with a tip of her head. “Yes. Though he’s married, it turns out, though perhaps unhappily,” she murmured toward the end.

Mac smirked behind the rim of her glass. She was about to point out that she hadn't once mentioned anything about a personal connection and say it hadn’t necessarily stopped Phryne before. But Jack seemed different and she thought to warn Phryne against toying with him, from encouraging him too much.

But when Phryne gave a small sigh, Mac was shocked at the unexpected reaction. She realized Phryne wasn’t completely unaffected herself, and she wondered if instead, she needed to warn the inspector off from encouraging her friend too much. 


	22. Vows

“I don’t want to get married,” she’d said, and he’d been fine with that. But one day, while they were walking along the shore, he’d stopped. The normal thoughtfulness that crossed his features was there, but it was tinged with an even deeper contemplation.

“Phryne,” he began, looking down to where their fingers wove together. “I want to ask you something.”

Fear and anticipation battled in her chest and threatened to crawl up her throat. “Alright,” she managed to answer, not entirely sure what she wanted him to ask…or not ask.

Jack swallowed and met her eyes, his thumb tracing a lazy pattern against her where her wrist met the heel of her hand. “I love you,” he began.

Before she could tell him that it wasn’t a question, he gave a small smile and continued. “Will you be open to that? Will you let me love you?”

Soft peace slipped through her body like the waterline slipping over her bare feet. She sank her toes into the sand and tried to gain purchase physically and emotionally. She knew what he meant. Would she allow him to care for her---and express that caring, in protection, in concern, in affection, in physicality… in everything he had to give.

“Yes,” she replied. “I will.”

His mouth curved up in a fraction of a smile—his true happiness was reflected more in his eyes than on his lips. But when he went to turn to continue their walk, she stayed put, digging her toes deeper into the cool sand and tightening her fingers around his.

Jack met her eyes, and she swallowed. “And what in return? Will you let me love you?” Her tone was as serious as the steady beat of her heart. Vulnerability softened his cheeks, and his lips parted. To love _and be loved in return_ seemed to be more than he’d hoped for; he would have settled for being able to love her. He would have, she knew it.

_This man._ She loved this man and wanted to care for him with everything _she_ had to give. “ _Please say yes_ ,” she spoke, and the slightly emotional rasp to her voice surprised them both.

“Yes,” he replied. “Yes,” he said again, quicker this time. And the smile he gave her felt lighter, freer, happier. It took root in her heart, where she knew it would stay forever. She leaned toward him and he leaned toward her, and with a soft kiss, they sealed their words.


	23. Wild

"Ow," he winced when his elbow slammed against the door.

"Sorry," Phryne murmured before plastering her body against his and practically shoving her tongue down his throat.

"Mmmm," he replied, already hiking her skirt up and over her waist and palming her satin covered ass. "This is wild," his eyes were almost glassy when she yanked on his shirt and pulled, sending small buttons skittering across the floor. "Damnit, Phryne," he picked her up and turned them until her back was flush against the door. "But this is fucking addictive."

"Yes," she agreed, mouth moving over his throat. "But it will be even better when you are _actually_ fucking me," she challenged and cupped him through his pants, and he nearly gaped at her reply.

Clothes flew left and right until his long lean body was pressed up against every single inch of hers. "You want to be fucked?" he growled, using one hand to cup her breasts while shoving his other hand between her thighs to find her already soaked and hot. "So damn tight," he praised when he slid two fingers inside her and stroked over and over.

"Jack," she demanded, wrapping one leg around his waist and pulling him even closer. "Get inside me. Now."

Jack cupped her hips in his large palms and then centered himself for a fraction of a second before thrusting home in one swift, hard stroke. They both groaned, and Jack began to pump inside her, all the while keeping his eyes on her. His knees nearly buckled at the visual of having her like this. Her head fell back, and her lips parted on a raw cry as he pushed into her over and over. She was so open to him, and each time he stroked, she gripped him tighter.

Phryne gripped his biceps, her blunt fingernails leaving little half-moon indentations in his muscled skin. "Harder, faster, deep— _oh fuck, Jack_ … deeper," she pleaded.

Dark color slashed his cheekbones, and his eyes burned with an inner fire that ignited her passion. He shifted his weight and crowded her tighter between the door and his body, using one elbow against the wood for leverage as he fucked her just as she wanted: hard, fast, and oh so fucking deep. Her lips parted and he stared at them for a second before remembering that he had the right to kiss her. His mouth slanted over hers, and she groaned against his lips, gripping his hair and kissing him back.

And that was how they both came—mouths and bodies fused together.

Eventually, Jack tried to breathe and he pulled back to suck in air. Phryne buried her face against his chest and wrapped her arms around his waist to hang on.

"Fuck, Phryne…we barely even made it in the door," he rasped out, his chest and stomach heaving with each breath.

"But we did," she countered lazily, skimming her lips over his chest and neck.

"Mmmmmm," he agreed.

" _And_ we still have several minutes left on your lunch break," she traced his spine and nipped at his chin.

"Ah," Jack grinned and stepped back, already turning toward the bedroom. "Should we see if we barely make it to the bed?"

They almost tripped over one another's feet in their hurry to get to the bed. But they made it…barely.


	24. X (marks the spot)

Happy Christmas Eve!  And Happy Saturday to those who don’t celebrate Christmas.

Warning—this one is a bit filthy (or at least the most explicit of this series).

\--j&p--

 

He remembered his first kiss, from a Sophie someone or other in school. He remembered several other kisses as well throughout his youth and junior cadetship days. He remembered his first kiss with Rosie. It had been sweet and nice and full of promise.

But he also remembered the first time he’d kissed Rosie on the neck, that first time he’d trailed his lips down her throat and she’d moaned. He remembered that moan. He remembered the first time he’d gotten her topless, staring in awe at her breasts, unable to keep from kissing her there. He remembered feeling her tight nipple and automatically licking it. She’d gasped but gripped his head and held him close, wordlessly telling him that she was fine with what he was doing. More than fine with it. And he’d barely been able to believe his luck that being able to settle in and trifle with her beautiful breasts with his hands and mouth pleased her as much as it pleased him. He’d imagined a lifetime of getting away with pleasure in front of him.

He’d made it his mission, his newest adventure, to learn her body as best as possible. There were other spots he’d discovered, some with purpose and others accidentally. He’d known there was a special spot between a woman’s legs. Rosie hadn’t been sure, but she’d let him investigate. First with his fingers, and then with his tongue. He hadn’t needed to ask when he’d found that little nub at the top of her slit. She’d let him know by calling his name, wrapping her thighs around his head and undulating beneath him.

He knew he had spots of his own, some more obvious than others. The base of his throat, his hipbones, and of course, his cock.

And now, while sleeping regularly with Phryne, he knew that some of the basic spots were pretty much the same for most women but that each one had her own sensitive spots. Behind the knee, under the navel, the base of the spine, the earlobe. But in the time he and Rosie had stopped having sex and he’d started sleeping with Phryne, he’d heard about a different spot, one _inside_ a woman. It seemed like a myth to some (though he knew enough about relations to know it could have been from lack of effort on the part of the man) and nirvana to others.

So one day, as they were in bed together and things were heating up nicely, he thought he’d test the theory. If it worked, it promised to give her a lot of pleasure. If not, he was sure he could play it off as a hitch in the normal way he used his fingers to make her see stars.

He slipped in one index finger and then his middle finger, using his mouth on her neck and throat in soft sucking kisses. Careful not to root around carelessly, he gently felt around the front of her walls, trying to identify some sort of notch or nub to guide him. Beneath him Phryne parted her legs wider. She arched her neck and her hips, encouraging him to continue. He settled in and kept at it, adding the edge of his teeth to the skin of her jawline.

“A little to the left,” she breathed, and he blinked before pulling back to look at her suspiciously. Of course she knew exactly what he was doing, what he was looking for. He blushed a bit, but it was also promising. _It existed_ , and he had the ability to make her feel incredible. He shifted his fingers a fraction of an inch, and her brow furrowed.

“ _My_ left,” she corrected, and he couldn’t help but chuckle. She smiled too and he leaned down and kissed her mouth. He moved his fingers in the right direction, still not exactly sure what he would find, but hoping she didn’t need to provide him with any more direction, when—

“Oh,” she jerked beneath him. There was no other word for it. He massaged again, and she was like a live wire, strung tight and electric.

He was entranced and he used her body language to guide him. He knew she’d tell him if it was too much or not enough, and he monitored her every move, her every reaction, verbal and…well, non-verbal. She was getting warmer around his fingers, and a flood of creamy wetness slipped over his fingers. Remarkable.

“Your mouth,” she gasped, twisting her hips toward him.

“Mmmm,” he acknowledged and kissed his way down her body. He fastened his mouth around her clitoris, licking once with his tongue before applying a soft gentle suction and pressing just a bit harder with his fingers.

There was that jerking again. She was murmuring nonsensical sounds now, dripping all over his fingers and rocking against his mouth.

“Wait,” she begged, and he pulled back, looking up at her from between her legs.

She cupped the back of his neck and her lips parted for a moment before she spoke. “I’m going to come soon, and hard,” she instructed. “And I need to you keep doing everything you’re doing. Don’t remove your fingers or your mouth until I say so. Understood?”

He nodded, his jaw brushing against her mound.

“Okay…” she nodded back and then settled against her pillow, closing her eyes and spreading her legs wider for him to gain better access.

He teased for a moment, light licks against the inside of her slit, and she whimpered. He smiled against her clit, tapping the inside spot with his fingers once, twice, a third time before pressing down and simultaneously sucking her clit into his mouth.

She cursed out a harsh breath and he stayed steady, giving her what she wanted. When he thought she would break and come, she didn’t, and he realized this was going to go deeper, longer, harder. A thrill ran up his spine. He was doing this to her. Their sex had been amazing and explosive so far, but this was more.

Her fingers ran indiscriminately over him, his shoulders, his neck, his face, his hair and then over her own body, her thighs, her stomach, her breasts. It was pure hedonistic pleasure, and he centered himself on her body, sucking and pressing, gauging her reaction.

A simple “ _yes_ ” signaled her orgasm, and she froze, every muscle going tight before her release rolled over her in visible waves , echoed in the clenching of her core against his fingers.

He obeyed her earlier directive, keeping his fingers deep inside her, keeping her throbbing clit between his lips. She arched, she keened, she bucked and gripped. It seemed to go on forever, but eventually she slowed and stilled. He stayed where he was, waiting for her to say it was enough. She was twitching lightly, moaning small whimpers of praise and pleasure. He thought he might stay there forever, basking in her delight. But the insistent throb in his cock told him it wouldn’t be long before he would need more. Just as he began thinking about sliding up her body and trying to use the head of his dick to find the spot and rub her there, she cupped his chin and lifted his head from her.

“You have one too, you know,” she murmured, and he blinked.

A small smile curved up her mouth and she motioned him forward. He obliged, kissing his way back up her lethargic body. Phryne massaged the back of his neck and he couldn’t help but rub his throbbing cock between her wet folds at the sensation.

“Would you like me to help you?” she kissed him and then asked, and he remembered what she’d said.

He didn’t have any idea where to begin, but he remembered the ecstasy on her face and nodded.

“Do you trust me?” she followed up with the next question and base need and slight terror gripped him.

“Yes,” he cleared his throat and then nodded again. “Yes.”

With a soft push, she moved him to his back and began kissing her way down his body. She nipped and sucked and made him delirious. She took his cock in her mouth and he yelped. No matter how many times she’d done it, that first soft suck of her warm wet mouth always drove him insane. Her hands were on his thighs and then her fingers were busy between his legs. He felt her fingers cupping his balls, massaging the thick root base of his cock, the tight stretch of skin behind his testicles, and then one finger skipped lightly toward his opening. He twitched, simultaneously bucking toward her and rebelling at the thought.

“Trust me?” she repeated, and he settled his breath, closing his eyes and sliding his fingers through her hair, wordlessly giving her permission. And yes, his trust.

She put her mouth on him again, using her lips and tongue along his length. He focused on it but still couldn’t help but notice her finger circling the tight knot of nerves around the opening of his body. He felt so vulnerable but also curious for more. He gasped when her finger slipped inside. It was tight and a bit…fiery in intensity. But not bad necessarily. And the wetness of her mouth over his cock made him lightheaded.

It was strange, fine, nothing extraordinary if he didn’t think about the mechanics of it all, and then--

“Oh my god,” he breathed, pleasure seizing him from head to toe. He didn’t care what he looked like, what he sounded like. He just wanted “More,” he begged. “Please.”

She nodded against his thigh and began a massage, sucking the head of his cock against the roof of her mouth like she could inhale his come from him with each pull, matching the pattern of her finger with her tongue against the notch where his tip met his shaft. This went on and on, his climax riding the razor’s edge, but still out of reach.

“Oh, fuck me,” he wheezed, gripping her shoulders. He needed…he needed…

“Phryne,” he opened his eyes and moved up on his elbows, groaning at the sight of her between his legs. “I need to fuck. I don’t know what, or…” words failed him. He just knew what his body was telling him.

She slid her cheek over his cock. “You’re fucking my mouth.”

His mouth went dry. “I need…to go deep.”

A kiss against his length. “You _can_ go deep.”

_Yes_. No.

He needed…

“Please. I don’t know…I just…” he fell back to the pillow, pressing his palms to his eyes to try to gain some clarity.

“Alright,” she finally agreed, removing her finger from his body and sliding up to kiss his lips. He groaned with every centimeter of sensation. “But it will require some additional…creativity. Are you up for that?”

He looked at her face. “Whatever it takes.”

Her eyes were smiling and she kissed his mouth and then moved toward her bedside table. From there she pulled out a small, thin, smooth wooden object with a thick rounded handle. Apprehension and anticipation coursed through his body. He watched as she massaged it with some lubrication and he did the math. It was noticeably thicker than her finger had been, but slimmer than his cock. And…well, he trusted her.

Phryne moved to her back, and he moved over her, settling between her thighs and sinking into that wet warmth. His breath escaped him for a second and he rested his face against her neck, breathing her in. It was so good. He gave a few thrusts, in and out, reveling in how deep he could go. The friction was always so tight, so lush. They fit each other perfectly, and he started to descend into the blissful madness, hitching one of her legs higher against his waist and sinking deeper.

And then he felt it.

The initial breach, that tight, still unfamiliar slide, and a hint of pain, and then. Then _oh_ , _that sweet blessed spot._ “Yessss,”. He reared back into the sensation before bucking forward. He moved his weight to his elbows, staring down at her as he fucked her, the feelings unlike any he’d experienced before. She was so beautiful, her dark hair such a contrast to her pale skin. Her eyes were hooded, and he realized she was as aroused as he was. That was good he supposed; he was barely able to have a care for her pleasure. Everything was snug and he was filling and was being filled. He felt it everywhere, never wanted it to stop, even as he searched for that elusive next level of release.

“Let go, darling,” she encouraged. Phryne was working him over from below, pressing one hand to the small of his back, moving and… god, he didn’t know or care. Incredible, exquisite, carnal, fuck, fuck, _fuck_.

He realized he was murmuring the word in time with each forward thrust of his hips. He was mindless, out of rhythm, sinking. It started in his thighs, moving up and down his spine, centering on where they were connected.

Miraculously he felt her clench around him. And then he was clenching himself around the pressure in his ass. Unreal.  “Oh, oh,” he squeezed his eyes shut and panted as his orgasm radiated outward. He felt himself shooting come into her, vaguely heard her gasp at the forceful rush of his release near to overflowing her. His whole body shook and twitched and he collapsed, unable to do anything but shudder and flex, moan and groan at the pleasure.

He sensed her slipping the wood from his body and he gasped at the small catch at his tight opening. It was staggering. A tiny hint of soreness remained, a violation and reminder of the otherworldly experience. Everything felt slick, between his legs, between her legs, the slight sheen of sweat over both of their bodies, now cooling in the aftermath.

She gently traced his skin, murmuring light words of encouragement and he sank into it, keeping still for just a moment longer, wanting to stay in the cocoon of whatever that had been.

Trust. It had been trust.

It was still trust that had him finally leaning back and meeting her eyes. Trust earned when she eyed him with soft pleasure and not smugness or bragging or amusement at his inexperience.

Astonished joy bubbled up and he laughed, the sound ending on a groan. He managed to roll off of her and onto his side with minimal flopping, but his limbs still felt like noodles. He sighed with pleasure as she rolled with him and snuggled up to his side. He had enough strength to wrap one arm around her and tug her close, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

She’d brought so much more learning and adventure to his life, and there was no one else he wanted to explore with. Hell, he’d even let her lead the way.


	25. Yuletide

*pulls in deep breath* MERRY CHRISTMAS CHARLIE BROWN!

(and everyone else too!)

\--j&p--

 

Jack arrived late on Christmas Eve. When she’d opened her door to his knock, she’d laughed out loud in pleasure. And he smiled too, immediately pulling her in for a hug.

Had they ever hugged in friendship before? She didn’t think so. Of course, they hadn’t been separated like this either. And yet, it felt so right, so good to be in his arms.

It was equally good to pull him into her home, to help him out of his coat and scarf. To warm him up with a good drink and seat by the fire, to gaze at him and confirm for herself that he was really there. Jack Robinson, his face shadowed and enhanced by the blaze from the yule log. If she was staring at him, it was no matter, because he was staring at her just as much.

She took his hand in his, twining their fingers. He traced his thumb along her skin. She swayed toward him and he pulled her closer until she was seated on his lap. She was surprised, for sure, but then wasn’t that what this was all about? Taking chances, going after what they wanted. He’d come all this way. What were a few more inches?

“Jack.”

“Phryne.”

His hand was on her waist. It was so intimate, she almost felt like weeping. Her hands rested on his shoulders. It was her turn to close the distance between them, and she did, leaning in to kiss him. It was a soft, sweet kiss. Comfortable, content. So rare to find at the beginning of a relationship. Though it wasn’t the beginning really, was it?

After several long moments of the same, she pulled back and stood. “Follow me upstairs?” she asked.

He looked at her from his seat before taking her hand in his once again. “I think I’ve proven I’ll follow you anywhere.”

She smiled, and so did he.

It was so natural, so easy to lead him up to her bedroom. It was easy to leave him in the main room while she visited her en suite and prepared for him. When she returned, he was seated on the bed, casually unfastening his cufflinks and she watched from the doorway as he placed them on the side table. He looked up and admired her nightgown before standing and making his way toward her. When he reached her, he cupped the back of her head and kissed her mouth. Her fingers splayed over his stomach and ribs and she leaned into him, into his kiss.

The fireplace in her room crackled with warmth and ambiance. They both took care to remove their clothing and then came back together, stroking skin where they could.

Phryne cupped his shoulders in her hands, allowing him to walk her backward toward the bed. The backs of her knees hit it, and she gladly fell backward. Jack remained standing, and she admired the way his cock rode high and hard against his stomach.  

He smiled as he eyed her from head to toe and she parted her legs. He swallowed then, and she watched as he reached forward with two fingers to test her readiness.

She gasped. The visual, combined with the actual reality of his touch, made her head spin.

“You’re wet,” he murmured.

“You make me wet,” she acknowledged, lifting up into his touch. “I want you, Jack.”

He eyed her for a second longer, clearly debating between additional foreplay or a quick joining. Before she could tell him there would be plenty of time later for slow explorations, he used one fingertip against her opening, feeling another rush of slick moisture. His cheekbones flushed and he moved closer, placing one knee on the bed.

Phryne moved backward until she was flat on the mattress, and Jack moved forward until he was fully over her. He palmed the insides of her thighs, widening them enough to make room for his hips. He sank against her and they both groaned. He paused for a moment, and they stared at one another, recognizing the importance of their actions.

With a soft solemnity, he reached between their bodies and took himself in hand to line up to her opening. After resituating his weight onto his forearms, he moved forward. Just an inch, and then backward. Forward again, an inch and a half this time, and then back out.

In and out he moved, not testing her willingness, but simply savoring her. Them. _This._

“Jack,” she murmured, lovingly tracing his cheek with the back of her hand.

He kissed her fingers and when she shifted her hips, her body opened up to him, resulting in him automatically sinking into her all the way. He grunted at the pleasure, and she arched up at the unexpected pressure.

His breath began to saw in and out as he picked up his rhythm.

“Oh,” she gasped. “Oh, this is lovely.”

“That’s one way to put it,” he replied dryly, and she couldn’t help but smile.

He put his weight on his knees as well, changing his angle and thrusting deeply into her, rubbing her core with his body on every move forward.

His physicality was delightful. His love…well, she’d known about that for a long time. His respect, yes. But his _lust_ …oh, she reveled in it.  

The extraordinary sensation was like tinder and kindling, and he was the initial spark. She gripped his shoulders in her hands and his hips with her thighs. She began to move beneath him, unable to lie still. Her body sought release, and she buried her face in the muscled curve where his neck met his shoulder.

He grunted and used one hand against her backside, lifting her up to his body, thrusting in a regular, firm rhythm now. The rasping slide of his cock, in and out, in and out, was addictive and she felt near to flame.

It lit, and she came, squeezing her eyes shut, giving herself over to the mindless wave of pleasure, clenching him with everything she could get her hands, her legs, her mouth on.

Vaguely, she felt him freeze, his legs lock straight between hers, and then he was groaning into her neck and pouring into her. In the back of her mind, she realized she wanted to have him again, and soon, to really analyze his pleasure patterns and release points.

As she came down from her orgasm, she also realized she’d bitten him on the shoulder. And not lightly.

Her teeth marks were visible, and a red mark was forming. Gently she traced it with her lips and then one finger. “Sorry,” she murmured, and he leaned back to meet her eyes.

A shy smile crossed his features. “It’s alright,” he cleared his throat. “I liked it.”

She ran her thumb up and down his spine, and he shivered, thrusting into her even as his cock softened and slipped from her body.

They both trembled at that, and remained still for a moment, breathing lightly and reflectively. And then he reached over for a small handkerchief on the nightstand, quickly cleaning her up and then himself.

Their exertions had left them warmed, but she knew that wouldn’t last long. Leaning backward, she pulled the covers away from the top of the bed, and with some maneuvering, they managed to get under the covers. They quickly reconnected, snuggling against one another. It should have been awkward, unfamiliar, uncertain.

But both found that it wasn’t. Perhaps it would be at some point, even when the sun rose. But for now, it was perfect.

A clock struck in the hall, signaling the new day.

“Merry Christmas, Jack,” she murmured, giving him a small kiss.

His hand rested on the small of her back, and she realized that was going to be a regular thing.

“Merry Christmas, Phryne,” he replied, kissing her in return.


	26. Zephyr

Inspired by the optimism a new year brings and…by Mary Poppins I guess!?  More later…

 --j&p--

 

“Always trust the zephyr, son,” his father had told him numerous times in his life. “The soft western wind always brings good things with it.”

Jack smiled as he slowed on his bike, finishing up his regular morning ride. He sensed and felt the shift in the air. A wonderful prickling sensation slid over his skin, and the wind gently ruffled his hair. He slowed further and dismounted, looking up at the sky as he paused before stowing his bike away.

~~

Phryne closed her eyes and relished the sea air and slight spray of the water. Only an hour or two more, she figured.

A smile crossed her features and she was incapable of holding it back. Home. She was close to home. For the first time in her life, ‘home’ had positive meaning. She’d alluded to the fact that she would be back soon, but hadn’t given anyone her exact travel plans.

Jack had been unable to follow her, but where the logistics failed, the sentiment and desire did not. She understood and was looking forward to seeing him again.

Her smile grew wider, incapable of doing anything but.

~~

Jack sat at his desk, his fingers fiddling with the edges of the morning newspaper. Still, that sensation of something, a hopeful something coursed through him. He absentmindedly took a sip of tea and then froze.

_Arriving in port, 13:20, SS Zephyr._

A few words, a few numbers. And suddenly it was clear. He shot up from his desk, racing through the front of the office. “Be back in a bit, Collins,” he got out just before he reached the entrance.

And then he paused again, turning. “On second thought, I may be out the rest of the day.”

 

The constable blinked and then nodded, noting the rare smile on his boss’s face.

 

The end!

**\--j &p—**

 

One time, in a different fandom, I got a comment that a story I’d written was a real pussy melter. Haha! And erm…okay! I hope this series has warmed your heart and possibly warmed your … *consults Harlequin novel for proper term* ahem, _nether regions_... whatever they may be. 

Thank you again to everyone for all of the kind words, kudos and shares, etc.

Shout out to Fire_sign and RositaLG for also providing amazing stories along the way this month!

Now, if you all will allow a bit of encouragement from a pal.

I’ve been actively reading and writing fanfiction for almost 10 years at this point (I’m 36), and there have been times I’ve used it as a creative outlet, times to just feel connected to a fandom, times to explore my own sex life and fantasies, other times as a safe haven, uninterested in the rest of the world.

For me, in 2017, I’ve set some personal goals about being more…available. Sometimes I laugh and think “what if I just took one of my chapters and posted it to an online dating site and said ‘hey, I wrote this, I can probably do it too’ and see what happens”? I don’t think I’ll do that _exactly_ , but for those of us who give some of our best stuff, some of the best parts of ourselves, to the interwebs, I’m challenging myself (and anyone else who wants to be challenged) to connect more with people.

There is so much passion and talent in this community, and while I don't mean to lessen fanfiction as an outlet for it, I just encourage each one of us (me included) to discern when we're using it to hide our true selves or lick some wounds (completely acceptable) and when we need to branch out a bit from the safety of the nest...always knowing it's there for us when we need it!

We’ll see what happens! And either way, I hope that 2017 brings a year of tremendous inspiration, connection, and dreams and fantasies fulfilled for each one of you—in and out of the bedroom ;)  

I’ll be around for the PFFs and wish you all a Happy New Year!


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